


Kicks

by skarletfyre



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, F/F, Falling Out of Love, Resentment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-03 02:14:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13331349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skarletfyre/pseuds/skarletfyre
Summary: They'd really had something once... hadn't they?





	Kicks

Whirlwind romances, isn't that what people called them? Getting swept up, off your feet and into a tangle of limbs and tongues and emotions, only to come crashing down in a burning heap?

She hadn't wanted that. She had wanted something, once, but Christ if she couldn't remember it now...

Moira stared at her pale reflection in the mirror, blurred and distorted by the steam from her recent shower. A pair of mismatched eyes stared balefully back at her in silent judgement. Her hair was wet, half plastered to her forehead and dripping down onto her face as well as the into the sink she was leaning over. There was a blue toothbrush laying on the edge of the sink, and a hairbrush on the counter with a few long, blonde hairs still caught in the bristles.

This was not her bathroom. These were not her quarters that she was bathing in in the middle of the night on a Thursday. Trying to recall what exactly she'd once seen in the woman waiting for her in the room next door.

They had worked so well together, once. Angela was brilliant, beautiful, kind. She had a way of driving others to be their best selves, both in their work and on a personal level. It was hardly a wonder that she'd gone into medicine. She  _cared_ , more deeply than anyone else, about the cause of Overwatch and the people fighting to uphold it. Moira used to love that.

She loved it, until she didn't. Until it rankled. Until an unshakable moral compass started sounding more and more like 'moral superiority.' She loved being challenged and pushed, loved when Angela would come to her station and pose questions to her. They would go back and forth, with Angela asking about her goals and outcomes and margins of error and Moira explaining her data and averages and what she was hoping to learn in the next series of trials. It was good mental exercise.

Unfortunately, it had become exhausting.

Something about it had become twisted and changed into less of a back and forth and more of a full frontal assault. Moira no longer felt challenged, she felt  _attacked_. Explaining her methods had been warped into justifying her actions, her choices, her ethics. And, God, the  _ethics._

Scowling at her own reflection, Moira yanked the hand towel from its bar and scrubbed it roughly through her dripping hair. She was not amoral. While true that she was much more suited to research to any sort of clinical work, she was not unmoved by the pain and suffering of others. Truly, it moved her  _too_ much, to the point it became difficult for her to remain objective and collected in the face of dire illness or a horrific wound, as so many of those returning from front line operations came to bear. Her life's work was dedicated to eliminating such degradation of the body.

And  _no,_ that work was not yet near completion. Her breakthroughs had not been as significant as Angela's, but every day she was a step closer. And every test subject, every rabbit that suffered or sickened or passed away under her observation meant that she was that much closer to a world without any suffering at all. It was not cruel to use them this would.  _Cruel_ would be to inflict an untested gene-altering compound on a human being.  _Cruel_ would be giving those people impossible hopes and expectations without being able to deliver when needed most. 

But Angela did not see it that way, and Moira knew she never would.

She took her time drying herself off and applying moisturizing lotion to her body. It was Angela's, and it made her skin silky smooth and smelling of wildflowers, and Moira regretting putting it on immediately. The scent would cling to her through the night and into the morning, unless she showered again. She would smell of Angela wherever she went.

Flowers, and a faint hint of superiority. 

As she was pulling on her knickers, there was a soft knock at the door. Moira answered opened it, bare chested, and couldn't help but smile at the pretty pink blush that crossed Angela's cheeks.

"Did you need something, darlin'?"

The endearment was more out of habit than anything. But the sight of Angela's blue eyes looking up at her through her lashes and messy blonde bangs still brought some sort of warmth to her heart. That was something, at least.

"You've been in there an awfully long time," Angela said, teasing, looking politely up into her eyes. "I was hoping to get in a shower before bed as well, but if there isn't any hot water left..."

She trailed off as Moira pushed the door open fully, letting the last wave of cooped up heat flow out into the bedroom beyond. She grabbed the rest of her clothing off of the counter.

"There should be enough, if you're quick. Let me know if there isn't. You know how much the commander loves reading my letters of complaint."

Angela gave her a reproachful look, but let the comment slide as Moira stepped out past her, still mostly naked. The shorter woman lingered in the open doorway a moment, and Moira could feel eyes on her as she began to button up her blouse.

"You're not staying?" Angela asked, softly. Moira shook her head, facing away. She left the top-most button undone and reached for her trousers.

"Forgot my toothbrush."

"Oh." Then, "You could come back? I wouldn't mind leaving the door unlocked for a while."

The offer was sweet. Angela clearly wanted her to stay over, to fall sleepy and hold one another in the night.

Two months ago and Moira would have jumped at the chance. But the idea of waking up early to slink back to her own room in secret, before anyone could come around and find her missing, did not appeal to her. She was tired of secrets, and of sneaking. It would be trouble enough getting back to her own quarters now.

"I've got to stop by the lab and make sure the rabbits are fed," she said, and realized immediately that it was the wrong excuse. Angela  _tched,_ and Moira felt her metaphorical hackles raise in response.

"There really must be a better way than to keep those poor things cooped up in a lab," she started, the beginning of an old and well-worn argument. "They should be running free in a field somewhere, eating clovers."

"They're lab animals," Moira said tiredly, stooping to pull her shoes on at by the heel. "They've never been out of doors before, and wouldn't know what to do with themselves in a field."

"And you don't think that's sad?"

"No, Angela, I really don't."

"How can you say that?" the other woman cried, and Moira let her head fall back with an exhausted sigh. "They are living creatures, capable of feeling love and fear, and you don't think it's terrible to keep them imprisoned for their entire lives? Tormented, injected with chemicals and prodded day and night and-"

"Well what else am I meant to test my experiments on?" Moira snapped, whirling around. " _Myself?_ Or should I follow in your example in not running any trials whatsoever, and put human lives at the mercy of unproven technology? I suppose at least it will be of great consolation to the mourning families that no animals were harmed in the production, aye?"

Angela took a step back, her face as red and shocked as if Moira had slapped her. It  _was_ a slap, in a sense. One that hit far too close to home.

"That isn't fair, Moira."

Now it was Moira's face turning red, a blotchy flush of anger and shame creeping up her neck. No, it wasn't fair, but it wasn't a lie either. And with the mood she was currently in, she couldn't quite bring herself to apologize for her words.

Moira grabbed her lab coat and lanyard off of the floor where they'd been thrown, hours earlier. She avoided Angela's eyes.

"Don't stay up too long," she said curtly, fumbling with the latch to the door. "I'll see you at breakfast."

Moira power walked the short distance to her own assigned quarters, not caring who might hear her out in the hall or what they might think. She was too busy convincing herself that after the door closed, she didn't hear Angela start to cry.

**Author's Note:**

> hi i'm super fucking against animal testing and moira's views are not my own, thanks


End file.
